Married To The Mad Vampire Lord-Chapter 235: Painting

"Kiss me," he breathed thickly.

Belle did not hesitate, she moved forward and pressed her mouth to his. She then tentatively wrapped her arms around him, the gauzy drape coming around his neck.

She tasted like warm honey as she kissed him, an incredible sweetness that made him press himself against her, knowing well enough he might not get the chance to do this again in weeks.

Rohan recognized her growing arousal as she pressed herself into him, but it wasn’t about his own pleasure this time. He needed to bring that flushed, hungry look to her eyes, the one he longed to capture on canvas.

He slid his broad knee between her legs, coaxing her forward with a deep, lingering kiss. Then, gripping her gently but firmly by the buttocks, he boosted her up until she trustingly straddled his thigh. When their eyes met in that position, it felt like a slowly rising fire, burning even hotter between them.

Rohan loosened his hold just enough to allow her to slide against the firm, unyielding muscle of his thigh. She looked startled at first as hot desire curled inside her body, but then a soft, breathy sound escaped her lips as her hips instinctively moved in response.

He kept his hands resting lightly on her hips, guiding her into a slow, sensual rhythm, rocking her against the solid strength of his leg—teaching her to pleasure herself, to find her own rhythm.

Her sweet, intoxicating scent surrounded him as she moved against him, and he kissed her again, then leaned back into the couch he now sat on, letting her ride his thigh. Her slick, swollen cleft pressed against the fabric of his trousers, damp and aching with desire, and the sensation of friction made her gasp.

Belle instinctively scraped back and forth across his leg, a familiar, rising pleasure unfurling in her belly, driving her to continue. The feeling reminded her of the exquisite way his sinful fingers slid inside her, coaxing and teasing her toward the edge. Her breath quickened, cheeks flushed and damp with sweat as her thighs trembled around him.

Rohan realized she’d never pleasured herself before in anyway, never touched herself like this, never taken control of her own rising desire. It made her even more innocent.

He steadied her hips when she faltered, guiding her motion so she didn’t lose her rhythm. Her head fell back with a quiet moan, hair trickling down her neck to brush her bare, bouncing breasts, and her parted lips whispered his name.

"Rohan..." she breathed. "Why... does it feel so good?"

It felt good because her body was hypersensitive, every little touch magnified by arousal. The pressure of fabric against her bare, swollen folds, the friction against his thigh, the heat between them, it was all too much and yet just enough to give her pleasure.

He liked how she rose under his touch, her eyes softening in delight.

She looked more alluring than ever in this state, giving in to desire. He loved how she smelled, how she tasted, the sound of her breathy sighs, the warmth of her body beneath his hands.

It thrilled him that he could sit in a room, fully dressed, and drive his wife wild with need. He liked the power of it, the joy of watching her eyes widen and hearing her gasps melt into frenzied cries of pleasure.

Then, when she came with a soft cry, he gently set her aside on the couch and rose to his feet.

Her eyes were still hazy with lust as she looked up at him, flushed and panting. He leaned down and carefully adjusted her body on the couch. One leg he stretched along the cushions, the other he bent at the knee, leaving her hips open and inviting. He positioned her back to rest against the arm of the couch, sliding a cushion beneath to support her.

She was still watching him, struggling to catch her breath, her face glowing with heat from what she’d just done. Rohan smiled at her, then took her hand and placed it low on her swollen stomach, just beneath her breast. He guided the other to rest bent and lifted beside her head, fingers curling inwards.

She looked like a seductive goddess in that pose, flushed, open, heavy with his child. And it took everything in Rohan’s power not to strip off his clothes and take her right there, to bury himself inside her and worship her until she screamed his name.

But he restrained himself. He forced down the aching hunger in his veins, then wordlessly turned and walked to the arrangement he had prepared near the window.

He sat down on the stool, picked up his first brush, and began to paint her with steady fingers that moved with an inhuman speed across the canvas.

"Are you comfortable, my love?" he questioned not pausing his hand movements, looking at her from behind the canvas, where he could see her from the top of it, as he was taller than the canvas even while sitting.

Flushing shyly, she gave him a nod. "Yes..." Her eyes were still cloudy with desire, and he loved that he would capture just that expression he had longed for in a while.

The room was silent, with the only sounds being the movement of his brushstrokes and the faint noise of activities coming from outside the house.

It was almost unbelievable that she was lying there naked, letting him paint her, when she had always been someone who carried her modesty on her sleeves. Though she wanted so badly to cover herself as the haze of lust began to clear from her mind, she lay still for him to paint her.

He had been right—it wasn’t every day that she would be pregnant. Allowing him to paint her like this was a way to capture that moment forever.

She watched as strands of his dark-blue hair fell against his forehead, swaying gently with the breeze that slipped in through the window. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a glimpse of his sculpted chest and collarbones, kissed golden by the sun.

From beneath the stand of the canvas, she could see his bare, masculine feet, one foot firmly planted on the floor, the other resting lazily on the footrest of the stool. His posture was relaxed, elegant, and effortlessly commanding. There was something magnetic about the way he sat there, focused, shirt rumpled, beautiful in his own wild way. He looked like a painting himself, like a king who had wandered out of her dreams and into her life.

Something warm stirred low in her belly, and she wasn’t sure if it was the baby moving—or the effect of watching him like this. There was a faint smudge of paint on the side of his thumb, and for some reason, it made her want to kiss that exact spot.

Her heart ached at how deeply she loved him, and ached even more at how much she longed to hear him say he loved her in return.

Lying there in silence, watching him paint her, she couldn’t help her mind from drifting back to the strange dream she’d had earlier, after he’d left her alone in the room.

As much as Rohan had assured her it was just a dream, her thoughts kept circling back to the moment she saw her own hands and fingers—blackened, burnt, fragile twigs that looked like they would break under the slightest pressure. What could such a thing mean, and why had she dreamt it?

And that grave... a thread of unease crept into her at the memory, but she quickly dismissed the thought and looked at her husband behind the canvas, watching as his eyes moved back and forth between her and his painting. She decided to return her focus on him instead.

The silence was so comfortable that Belle began to feel drowsy with sleep again. She bit back a yawn, not wanting to disrupt the pose, and tried to blink away her sleepiness by watching Rohan—but even that soon became impossible to keep her awake.

"Don’t fight it, go to sleep. I’ve already painted the eyes. I’ll let you know when I’m done," came his deep voice, his eyes gentle and reassuring.

Belle gave a nod and then let her eyes fall close.

Before long, her light, soft snores reached his ears, and he raised his gaze from the painting to look toward her, finding her fast asleep on the couch. He had already finished the painting and was only adding the final touches to it. It never took him more than a few minutes to finish a painting, he thought, as he turned his eyes back to the canvas, only for a moment, before snapping them back toward her again when he caught sight of something from the corner of his vision.

His dark eyes quickly narrowed when he noticed rippling black-like patches appear on her skin once more, only to vanish just as quickly with the gentle rise and fall of her breathing.

Rohan rose from the stool and strode toward her sleeping form. His sharp gaze landed on a flicker of something, like black, dried skin, settling onto the couch where it had peeled away from the patches on her body a moment earlier, falling quietly to her side. It was a very small flicker, but his eyes were sharp enough to catch it.

Crouching before her, Rohan reached out and picked up the flicker from the cushion. But the moment his fingers touched it, it disintegrated, breaking apart like dust, crumbling into ash across his skin. His eyes narrowed further at the strange powder now lying on his fingers. What was this? In all his life, he had never seen anything like it before.

Belle’s trembling words about her nightmare returned to him.

’I wasn’t myself in the dream. My hands looked like burned twigs and dried... and I saw people mourning around a grave...’

What did all of this mean? And why was it happening now, suddenly, after all this time?

A heavy feeling settled in his chest, one he didn’t like in the slightest. Not until he got to the bottom of this... of why this was happening to her... did he think he could ever find peace. But recalling what Rav had reported to him earlier, he muttered a curse under his breath.

"Fucking hell. Too much at once. Too much at once, Isa."

He looked down at the ash on his fingers once more, then slowly stood up and covered Belle’s sleeping form with the coat he had draped over the back of the couch.

The source of this c𝓸ntent is fr𝒆e(w)𝒆bnovel